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I wanted to look my best to convince Xavier he won't be making a mistake teaming up with me, but I'm failing at that as badly as I've failed at everything since I arrived here. I don't like it.
Looking fabulous is my armor. I might be a mess on the inside, but as long as my outside looks perfectly curated, people will believe I have it together. Right or wrong, that's how the world works.
Being barely employed has made it more difficult to look like I've got it all together. I've had to shop at second-hand stores and get creative with my styling, but it isn't the first time. My mother always marries wealthy men, but she struggles with staying married. The alimony and child support checks helped, but my mother is a big spender and the checks didn't always arrive reliably. I learned how to stretch a look, re-using pieces when necessary, and how to shop the sales and put together an outfit that compensated for the lack of quality in the clothing.
RJ's not wealthy. He'll probably never be the kind of wealthy my stepdads were, but I can handle living on less. It'll be worth it if I know I can count on him coming home to me every night.
From one of those big happy families, with parents who've been together for decades, RJ even canceled a few dates with me to babysit for his nieces and nephews. He'll be a good husband and an even better dad. He'll never leave his kids behind.
A window display catches my eye and I look up to see I'm standing in front of a toy store with a Christmas tree in the window and a train running circles around it. The number over the door is higher than it should be. Somehow, I've gone too far.
But that's not possible. I've been paying attention, and I studied the picture of Xavier's candy store before I left this morning.
Did I get the address wrong?
Shaking my head, I turn and head back the way I came, checking the number on each storefront as I go.
There. It's the right number and etched on the glass is the name of the shop, Gourmet Candy Shoppe. So original.
What's different from the picture is that the Christmas-themed window display is gone. There's just a few sad stands with little bags of candy. There's nothing eye-catching in the least.
"Wow," I say aloud. "This guy really needs my help." The words warm me in a way my coat cannot, and I practically skip to the door, excited to get started.
Xavier's shop is desperate for a re-brand. The marketing classes I took at community college and my experience from years as a shopper make me the perfect person for the job. There's no way he won't help me break up RJ and Alice after I offer a hand to the man who's clearly drowning in retail obscurity.
The door doesn't open. A closed sign hanging there has a post-it note stuck to it: Back at 1:30 PM.
I groan inwardly. It's only one. What am I going to do to kill the time?
I stomp my feet, trying to get some feeling back into my toes, but it doesn't help. There's a coffee shop across the street, but a muffin and an extra cup of coffee aren't in my budget for today.
I'd planned to come to Yuletide, 'run into' RJ on the first day and win him back by the end of the week. Of course that didn't happen, and I can't afford to stay here much longer without careful budgeting and a job.
The "business" I own provides life designing to executives. Like life coaching, but with more fashion and pizazz. I don't actually have any clients at the moment. There are a few businesses back in Vegas who've expressed interest in my joy building group sessions for executives, but none of them have committed.
My previous life design client, Keating Sullivan, has been touting my skills to all his buddies, but I haven't gotten more than passing interest there.
If I were a pessimist, I might start to think my business plan is failing. I am not and have never been a pessimist. Every business needs time to get going.
I need to keep moving or I'm going to turn into an icicle. It took me twenty minutes to walk here, so there's little sense in going back to my condo. I don't want to risk missing Xavier, and I have little faith in his work ethic based on what I've seen so far. I don't want to walk down the street and miss the five minutes he actually opens the shop back up.
I pull out my phone and pace in front of his store. I scroll through my email and my socials, but there's nothing brewing there. I need to feel productive, so I do the one thing I've been dreading and putting off.
I call my mother back.
She answers on the third ring. "Cherry, finally. I'm glad I wasn't dying when I called you or you'd have missed the funeral."
I roll my eyes. "Your message said you were just calling to chat."
"You are proving once again that I overpaid for your prep school education, darling. 'I want to chat' is code for 'my boyfriend is cutting me off.'"
She's not entirely wrong. My prep school education was definitely wasted on me, but I'm not the total idiot she thinks I am. "You said the code for that was, 'I had some bad shrimp last night.'"
She sighs. "Only if he's not in the room, Cherry. If he's in the room, he'll know I didn't have bad shrimp. It's straight-up common sense. Your brainiac sister figured it out. She called me right back to tell me she's a cold, selfish bitch who isn't going to send me a single penny." She sighs heavily again. "I guess my daughters either get fashion sense or brains. Never both."
Mom was a lot easier to deal with before I understood just how toxic she is. It's hard for me to believe I used to take her comments about me having fashion sense, but no brains as a compliment. "Can we stay on topic? Your boyfriend cut you off?"
"Oh, honey, that's yesterday's news. He cut me off, and I cut him off." She giggles. "Well, I cut a very important part of him off."
